Crossing Over
by Sue Snell
Summary: Spoilers galore. After death he had learned that spirits with no unresolved issues are supposed to see "the light" and "cross over." Why then, was the only Light he saw the bloody corpse lying on the stairs? Death Note x Ghost Whisperer crossover.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Ghost Whisperer. If I did, L would not have died and Andrea's ghost would've stuck around instead of crossed over.**

**For those of you who read the manga, parts of this won't make since because I watched the anime and based this prologue on the anime ending. Also, this fic is based on the anime timeline (making the year 2013).**

--

**Prologue**

Five years he had waited for this moment. Five years of anticipation, of imagining what it would be like, of watching anxiously, five years of fearing it may never come. Five long and dreadful years he had spent waiting for this moment. Now it had finally come. And now that it _had_ finally come, he felt… bored.

How could he possibly be bored? Surely the tension should be unbearable as he listened with the others to Mikami's breathless counting of the seconds, the countdown to either Near's victory or Kira's, a countdown to certain death for _someone_.

"Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…"

Perhaps it was because he was at least ninety-five percent certain of the outcome.

"Near, it's my win!"

"Forty!"

"Ha!"

"Fool," L whispered. He could've shouted it without the risk of alerting living ears to his presence. Of course Light-kun probably thought he was safe, that those around him in the dank warehouse would take his confession to their respective graves very shortly. L himself couldn't figure out exactly how Near had managed to win, but he knew he must have sabotaged Light's plan somehow, or else he would not risk this.

"We didn't die." Of course it would be Matsuda who made such an obvious statement. As everyone but Near expressed shock and relief, L watched Light. He saw the glint of desperation enter his eyes as the reality of the situation began to take hold. He still watched Light as Mikami was restrained, but found himself looking away as Light-kun began to make his painfully feeble arguments: it was a trap set by Near to frame him, why would no one in the Note die? He'd never seen that man before…

"Almost too painful to watch, isn't it?" said the same voice that had provided humorless laughter as commentary moments before, "Almost," He repeated with a wicked grin. L gave no response to Mello's statement, but absently wondered how unsettled Near would be to know that his former rival had apparently been haunting him since death. He watched the white-haired boy now as he said, "Yagami Light, L," his eyes narrowed, "Kira, You have lost."

Again L wondered how the boy had done it.

"It was all thanks to Mello."

"I see…" L murmured as Mello sighed wistfully. He remembered when the man had kidnapped Takada. Light had known almost without thinking that once he was sure she'd carried out her orders for this situation his only option was to kill Takada and destroy all the evidence she'd had with her. So had Mikami. When he'd contacted Light he must have gotten the impression that his "god" was unable to act at the time, so he would see no choice but to act in his place. Of course Near had had the man under surveillance, the entire operation was practically _too_ easy from that point forward. The operation Mello had put into motion.

"He acknowledged you," the third ghost in the area said to Mello as Near explained what L had just finished deducing.

"Alone, neither Mello nor I could surpass L…" Near said, toying with his fingerpuppets of himself, Mello, and L, "But together… Together we are as able as L. Together, we can surpass L!" L narrowed his eyes but said nothing as Mello again laughed mirthlessly. Puffing on a spectral cigarette, Matt stared over Mello's shoulder at something only he could see.

"If you can talk your way out of this one," Near said to Light, "by all means please do…"

And of course Light had to talk. L knew the man's mind so well by this point that if he'd had the desire to he probably could've recited the speech in unison with Light. What it all boiled down to was that he was Justice, therefore he must judge; the world had nothing more to keep itself from rotting. At the end of it all Near rejected it completely, told Light he was nothing more than a mass murderer, an insane killer. It reminded L of Lind L. Tailor. How the announcement that he was going to find Kira and have him executed didn't seem to disturb Light but the declaration that Kira was evil had immediately brought on his wrath. Would Light-kun react in the same way now? Would Near's accusations push him over the edge? Not quite. Now Light-kun had a half-baked bluff for Near: How did he _know_ he held the real Death Note? After all, Light was only one who could really know for sure.

"If you fall for this Near, you're no successor of mine," L said darkly. He didn't have to look at Light to know he was in the process of killing Near with the page he kept in his watch. But he was caught. Through all that came next, the gunshots, Light's ranting and screaming, Matsuda coming so close to killing him right then and there, L stared at his toes. Five years he had waited for this moment, and now that it had finally come, he couldn't bear to watch.

He did at last look up in time to see Mikami stab himself. Within seconds the man's spirit was standing over his body, a horrified expression on his face. Before he could say or do anything however, he- "What the…" Mello muttered while L simply stared. It looked as if someone had tied an invisible rope around Mikami's waist and tugged him through a hole in the wall behind him. He'd let out and agonized scream as he bent double and disappeared.

"Hey Mello," Matt said shakily, "That's what it looked like when you… died and… went… where you went."

"Really. I'd thought it had something to do with that notebook. I guess he'll be back soon enough then."

"What?" L tried to make sense of Matt and Mello's conversation.

"None of your business," Mello said mildly, "Besides," he gestured at Light, who was running out the door, "Looks like you have more important things to worry about."

Making a note to further interrogate the other two deceased Wammy's children should he ever get the opportunity, though this seemed unlikely, L followed Light out into the evening.

Light's painful stumbling journey couldn't have lasted more than half an hour, yet every step seemed like a long and unforgettable moment. L walked at his side, slouched over as he had always been in life. He fell in step with Light-kun, as he had many times over the past five years of haunting, shadowing him more effectively than even Ryuk ever had. Five years of waiting. For what would come to pass… now.

Unable to walk any further, Light sat on the stairs and leaned backward. With barely enough will left to draw his final breaths, his eyes began to close. But before they did he saw him, standing there at the bottom of the stairs, watching him, his face hidden by shadow but his silhouette unmistakable in the blazing evening light.

L could tell that for the first time in five years, Light could see him. He thought of trying to speak to him, but before he could, Light's eyes widened in shock, a choked gasp escaped his lips, and then his now lifeless eyelids closed for the last time. _A heart attack?_ It had certainly looked like one. The irony was nothing short of brilliant if that were true. Was it? Perhaps he should ask Light's spirit, who now stood awkwardly next to his corpse.

"Light-kun…"

"L-" the specter's voice was cut off by a startled gasp. To the departed men's mutual horror, Light's spirit was promptly sucked out of this world the same way Mikami's had been. L stared in silence for a while at the space Light's ghost had so briefly occupied. After a while, to verbally shrug it all off, he murmured, "There was nothing I desperately wanted to say to you anyway." He immediately felt childish for saying it, but when had he ever claimed not to be?

Besides, none of that was important now. Now, he had to look for _it_. It had to be near now. By now he must be able to see it. After all, by the time he'd died, his life had been fully devoted to the identification, capture, and execution of Kira. That had all been fully completed today. So now he must see it. He'd spoken with a handful of other spirits about it. They'd all been very knowledgeable, it had to be true. His life's work had been completed. His unresolved issues had been resolved. It was time to see it. The light. That's where spirits went when they were out of unresolved issues. Those peaceful spirits were the only ones who could even see it. Now it was his turn. Where was it? Why couldn't he see it? Where was the light?

He hadn't felt this depressed since that point in the case where it became a "certainty" that Light-kun was not Kira. There was no "light." The only Light he saw was the bloody corpse on the stairs and in the face of apparent eternal condemnation on this side of "the light" _that_ Light held little comfort.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift to the only logical place to go now…

--

One month later, he wasn't quite sure why he'd allowed himself to end up _here_. He'd thought his afterlife would be relatively peaceful spent at Wammy's. When he arrived he was reunited with Watari's spirit. The deceased inventor had been quite content watching over the institution these past few years, and apparently no one there had been bothered at all by the presence of the old man's spirit. This was not the case with L.

The day he'd arrived, a few of the children, perhaps they were more sensitive to supernatural presences than the others L had reasoned, had become irritable, one even prone to tantrums. They'd either lose their appetites or indulge in gluttony until ill. Their odd behavior had progressed and worsened by the end of the week. The effects began spreading to the other children, even adults. Five times a night a child would wake his fellow borders screaming from nightmares. Many test grades began slipping as concentration became more difficult. Their teachers and guardians became prone to insomnia and anxiety. At first L decided to handle the situation as scientifically as possible, there was a chance, however small, that it was not he who caused these strange occurrences. Through experimentation he found that the more time he spent within viewing distance of a child, the more emotionally perturbed that child would become. If he decided to occupy one room for several hours, children and adults alike would soon enough be avoiding entrance to that room at all costs.

Watari tried to console him once he'd drawn the conclusion, but he was at a loss for what to do now. Certainly it wouldn't do to stay at Wammy's and continue to disturb the children. After all, one or more of them could be destined to carry on L's legacy one day; Near wouldn't live forever.

So he'd ended up _here_.

It had been odd decision. The current staff of Wammy's had found cause to milk some extra cash from L's inheritance, so they'd gone through the contents of a warehouse he'd once purchased as a prop to close an investigation; not unlike Near's purchase of Yellow Box. When he'd acquired it there had been some antique furniture left behind by its previous owner. L didn't know the previous owner's name, but among the furniture had been an oak rocking chair with a stylized W carved into its back. Just like Watari's signature W. It was perfect. L had always intended to bring it to Wammy's, the place needed more rocking chairs anyway, with statistics showing autism's steadily rising commonality, but he'd been working three cases at once at the time and the warehouse and its contents had been lost in the shuffle and forgotten.

Now he occupied that chair, clung to it, in a way. He'd found that after a few days of keeping himself attached to it he found it difficult to leave it for more than an hour or two. He had not intended for this to happen, but was there anywhere better to haunt anyway?

Wammy's had gotten 400 for the chair from a collector who, for some ironic reason, died a week later and now he was _here_.

What was this place again?

--

"You know Melinda, you were right. This is _totally _worth the road trip to Erie County." Delia couldn't help but be a little exited, in all the years she'd known and worked with Melinda, they'd barely ever gotten the chance to go to an estate sale together.

"I knew you'd like it," Melinda said, smiling and looking around. She almost always found them at estate sales... Ah, there he was. She pulled out her cell phone, which was switched off, and flipped it open so she could look like she was making a call if anyone noticed her talking. "Hello," she said quietly after approaching the spirit.

"Who, me? You can see me?"

"Yes," Melinda said with a friendly smile, "Your collection is very impressive; my name's Melinda, I run an antique shop in Grandview."

"You came to the right place, then," the deceased antique collector said, somewhat wistfully, "I spent twenty years traveling the world and putting this collection together, but I guess you really can't take it with you. At least the kids found a good company to mark all the stuff, I'd hate to think they not only sold my collection but got cheated on it too."

"You don't seem overly upset about them selling your life's work."

"My daughter, bless her heart, is just like her mother was, never understood the fascination with old things, always wanted everything shiny and new, and my son never got the point of keeping a collection when it could be sold for a profit. I saw this coming. As long as they spend the money in a way that makes them happy, I guess I really don't care."

"What's keeping you here, then?"

"I'm still rather proud of my collection. Call me egotistical, but I wanted one last chance to watch others admiring it before I have to leave it behind. Then I'll have a closer look at that light," he said with a wink.

"Glad to hear it," Melinda said honestly, the last estate sale she'd been to had ended in tears due to a message she'd had to deliver on behalf of a trapped spirit. "Since you know your collection best, anything you recommend I have a look at?"

"In the ballroom is some very nice furniture, mint condition, the lot of it. I bought it all in England, just last week."

"Thanks, good luck." She snapped her cell phone shut and began to look around the sale.

Wandering around the four-floor mansion, Melinda wondered if the man had started collecting antiques just to get rid of the spare money, the house was _huge _and yet somehow managed to be crowded by the size of his collection. His family was obviously _very _well off. Also, his collection seemed to have _everything_: dolls, dishes, artwork, appliances, if she could afford everything she saw here that she wanted, she'd never be able to fit it all in her shop.

It took her a while to finally make it to the ballroom, and when she did, she was surprised to find Delia already there.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in the furniture, Delia."

"I'm not, but some of this stuff is so pretty, and I always kind of wanted a nice rocking chair for the living room."

"Rocking chair?"

"Like that one over there," she pointed.

Melinda looked in the indicated direction and gasped.

"What is it, Melinda?"

"Sorry," Melinda immediately turned back to Delia and tried to focus all her attention in her direction, "I just didn't expect to see one."

"What? Melinda? Do you mean that..?"

"Yes, that chair's _occupied_." She'd been startled at first because the spirit's appearance bore some characteristics of the average Kira victim: unkempt hair, bags under the eyes from losing sleep due to the terror of being a criminal in Kira's era, the paleness of his skin had especially shocked her. She noted the odd way he crouched in the chair and the intensity of his facial expression and wondered if he'd been insane as well. But no, she realized now, he wore jeans and a sweatshirt, not the outfit of a prisoner or a patient.

"Really? Wow..." Delia said, sneaking a look over at the chair in question though she could see nothing unusual. Then she remembered something. "Wait a minute, Mel, I thought you said that they haunt people and sometimes places."

"Well, sometimes a spirit will attach themselves to an object that had some deeper meaning to them in life, it gives them strength."

"So this one has nothing better to haunt than an old rocking chair?"

"Maybe he's lost, confused," she stole another glance at him, he looked more listless than anything else.

"Well," Delia said with a shrug, "I guess I'll just leave him alone then. Thanks for the heads up."

"Yeah..." Melinda looked thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't know..."

"You're not thinking of buying the thing and trying to cross him over are you?"

"Well..."

"Melinda," Delia shook her head, "The daughter told me the guy bought this stuff in _England_ last week."

"I know..."

"That means that's probably where he died."

"But-"

"But what? Crossing them over usually involves talking to their relatives, doesn't it? It's not like you can just hop a plane to England if that's where his unresolved issues are."

"You're right," Melinda said with a sigh, "But still..."

--

L avoided eye contact with the dark-haired woman the same way she did with him, in case her knowing he knew about her proved to be a disadvantage, however unlikely this seemed. He really wouldn't have thought to bother with a medium, or whatever she thought of herself as, if he hadn't overheard her talking with her friend about "crossing them over." That fact made it a ninety-eight percent likelihood possibility that it would be in his best interests if she bought this rocking chair.

--

**Chapter 1 will be up as soon as I can possibly get it up, and for those of you who want to know more about what L did right after he died, that will be revealed in later chapters. Reviews are deeply appreciated and (sometimes) replied to!**


	2. Contact

**Here's Chapter 1! Even though this site insists on numbering it 2… Enjoy, and let me know what you think! And don't worry, I don't use exclamation points half as often in my actual writing! Just author's notes!**

oOo

Melinda felt slightly ashamed of herself. She'd left the ballroom with Delia, but then excused herself to "the bathroom" once they'd reached another floor to double back and look at the chair again. She knew Delia was right, there was probably nothing she could do for him, it really wasn't worth going out of her way for. But still. She was just so... curious.

She approached the chair from behind, admiring the delicately carved ornate W on the back. Once she reached it, she focused all her attention on the price tag, so he wouldn't notice-

"I know you can see me."

He stood, slouching, before her now, which shocked her. Not because of his sudden appearance, but because, it had not in fact been so sudden. She'd watched him actually unfold and _stand up_ from his oddly perched position to turn and face her. Most spirits just appeared and disappeared, seeming to pop in and out of existence at will. This one, however, seemed to avoid this method in order to appear as "alive" as possible. He'd probably been dead quite a while, Melinda decided, since he was so different from recently dead, "fresh" ghosts who could barely maintain their former appearance, much less move and walk the same way they had in life. He was very good at keeping his appearance; he seemed for all the world like a living, breathing, flesh-and-blood person. Albeit an eccentric one.

"Oh. Sorry," she said, faltering from the intensity of his glassy stare, "H-how did you know?"

"Perhaps I didn't," he said, a somewhat distant expression on his face, "Perhaps I simply say so to everyone within earshot in hopes that someday someone will talk back."

"Really? That's what you did?"

"No."

Melinda simply blinked at him, a puzzled frown folding her features. She was still trying to determine whether or not he was in fact English, there had definitely been a bit of accent in the word "perhaps," but otherwise his manner of speaking was somehow perfectly neutral of accent, he didn't even sound American.

When he saw that the woman was apparently speechless, he decided to be upfront about what he wanted. "Can you help me cross over?"

"I, I don't know yet," Melinda was definitely knocked off balance by his solid, straightforward approach, "What's keeping you here?"

"I don't know. If I did, why would I ask you for help?"

Wondering if she should take offense from his question, she replied, "A lot of spirits do. Usually they need me to deliver a message to a family member, or complete some task they were unable to finish in life?" She hoped talking like this would prompt the spirit's memory as to why he was trapped.

"Ah. What is your name?"

"Melinda Gordon." She was still feeling disoriented. She also felt like he was examining her closely. Far too closely for comfort. "What's yours?"

"You're beginning to attract attention." With that he disappeared. Actually disappeared instead of walked away, more like an average spirit would as opposed to the way he'd greeted her. She looked around to see that there were in fact a few potential furniture buyers staring at her curiously. Melinda hoped none of them had been standing close enough to her to hear what she'd been saying.

Ten minutes later, as she was examining a fine china tea set, she heard the voice from behind her. "So do you plan to help me?"

She gasped but recovered quickly. "Don't do that," she muttered, deciding not to turn to face him.

"Do what?" He said, walking around to face her, blocking her view of the tea set.

"Come up behind me like that, you could startle me and I could break something."

"Puzzling."

"What?" What on earth could this sloppily dressed, slouched over, formerly sleep-deprived spirit find puzzling about _her_?

"At first I had assumed you were born with your heightened perception of supernatural phenomenon, but if you can really be startled so easily, that suggests that you acquired this power more recently and are still in the process of adjusting to it. I still feel there may be some credibility to my first assumption however."

"Why?" she asked, trying not to get lost in his flood of explanation.

"Because I never reject my first assumptions quickly. I rarely reject them at all."

Was he being honest, arrogant, or both? Melinda wondered. But since this was a rather secluded corner of this room, she saw no harm in explaining things to him. "I'm 'startled easily' by ghosts because the spirit world has been growing stronger for several years now, so I'm never quite sure what a spirit is capable of."

"Ah," he seemed to take a moment to process this information. "So my first assumption was correct?"

"Yes, I've had this 'ability' all my life."

With a self-satisfied nod, he said, "So you must be very practiced at crossing spirits over, and therefore-"

"Still can't help you unless I know why you're here." They both lapsed into silence.

L stared at the woman, straight at her eyes and the thick layers of makeup surrounding them. He could tell she found it disconcerting.

"What?!" she finally hissed, quickly looking around to check if anyone had been nearby to hear her.

"Can you... try?" he tried to make his tone suggest her rejection would deeply hurt him.

Melinda sighed. "You're from England, right? Isn't that where your unresolved issues are?"

L looked thoughtful for a moment. "Regardless of my place of origin," he said at last, "Any 'unresolved issues' I may have are unlikely to be in England, or any European country for that matter. I would not expect you to travel overseas for my sake, if that's what's making you concerned."

"Good, because I wouldn't."

"I see... So you'll help me?"

"What makes you think I can help you when you can't even tell me what your problem is?"

"Given time, I could probably come up with something."

Melinda rolled her eyes, "I bet you could."

"I've been listening. I know this sale continues two more days. You know where I... reside. You will consider it?" He disappeared again.

"Yeah," Melinda whispered to herself, "Looks like I will."

oOo

Later that evening at the hotel room she and Delia had procured for the night so they could rest up before the ten hour trip back to Grandview, Melinda debated with herself. And Delia.

"Melinda, are you kidding? _He_ doesn't even know what his problem is, and you think you can solve it for him?"

"I don't know... Maybe it's some emotional issue he could work through on his own, if he could only figure out what it was."

"Yeah, and knowing nothing about him, you'd be the best one to help him with that."

"I know I know," Melinda said, then added defensively, "Maybe he just wants to know for sure that I want to help him before opening up."

"Or maybe he just wants to be a prick about it."

"Delia!"

"What, Mel? People are like that, just because they're dead doesn't mean they don't want to spread misery throughout the world."

"He didn't really seem like that kind of-" Melinda paused. Actually, he did seem exactly like that kind of person. To make a more honest statement, she said, "I think he's been dead for a long time, maybe he's just frustrated."

"More like frustrat_ing_, he wouldn't even tell you his name, Melinda."

"I know..." And that was the problem. A spirit's reluctance to cooperate with her really shouldn't make her want to help that much more, but, for some reason, it did. It was like watching CSI and trying to figure out who did it before the end of the episode. Part of her wanted to talk to him more just to see if it was possible to figure him out without him telling her how to.

Delia looked at the distant expression on her friend's face. "You're gonna do it aren't you?"

"Yes," Melinda said, as much to herself as Delia, "I'm gonna give it a try."

"Fine," Delia sighed before offering one last argument, "There's no way that rocking chair's fitting in your car."

"Oh..."

oOo

The next day, which was a Saturday, Delia made arrangements for her son Ned to drive his used pick-up truck up to Erie County so Melinda would be able to take the rocking chair back to Grandview.

"I'm so sorry I had inconvenience the both of you," Melinda apologized again as the high school senior loaded the chair into the bed of his truck.

"It's fine, Melinda," Delia replied for what felt like the thousandth time. Lowering her voice, she added, "But Ned's gonna want an apology when he finds out you made him load that chair without telling him someone was in it." Glancing at the chair, she asked, "Is he now?"

"He tried to stay for a little bit but it looks like he decided to get out of the chair and watch Ned until it gets secured," she replied, casting another glance at the spirit's severe expression and the way his eyes followed Ned's every move. "Are you sure Ned's not mad about your little mother-son road trip?"

"Well, he's not exactly overjoyed..." The night before Melinda and Delia agreed that once the chair and the rest of the things they bought at the estate sale were loaded, Delia and Ned would drive Melinda's car back home and Melinda would drive Ned's truck, and hopefully in the course of the ten hour drive back manage some conversation with "Casper's Evil Twin," as Delia had proposed to call him until a better name was supplied.

"I still don't see why I can't drive my own truck," Ned said to his mother, having finished loading the chair.

"Honey, we know you're a good driver, but you just drove the ten-hour drive here. Melinda and I are concerned that you might be too tired to drive a load of fragile antiques the whole ten hours back."

"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes, "Let's just go."

And so they left.

oOo

About thirty minutes into the trip, by the time Melinda was on the highway, the spirit appeared next to her in the passenger seat, crouched in that same strange way he had been in the rocking chair.

"Could we work on my crossing over now?"

Straightforward again. Melinda replied, "Sure. I'll need to ask you questions."

"Ask."

"Well, I'd like to get a name first."

"But you have not named it a necessity. What next?"

Melinda cast a somewhat peeved look at the secretive spirit before sighing and saying, "Fine. How did you die then?"

"Cardiac arrest," L said, turning to look at Melinda and gage her reaction to this statement.

Melinda's hands tightened on the wheel as her eyes widened. _Kira_. "I suppose," she said, trying to keep her breathing even, "That you're waiting for Kira's death to avenge yours then..." He wouldn't be the first. With any luck he'd realize she couldn't exactly help him with that and leave her alone...

"Hm?" he said before recalling that according to what he'd overheard from the Wammy's staff, Near had decided not to publicize Kira's death in case his fanatic followers would want to try something drastic. In response to Melinda's question he said, "No." Fidgeting a little, he added, "You refuse to consider the possibility that it was a_ natural _heart attack?"

"What are the odds?" Melinda said with a slightly panicked snort.

His hand toyed with his mouth thoughtfully a moment before he said, "Approximately eighty-five percent, if you don't take my age into account."

Melinda blinked. "What?"

"You asked," L said matter-of-factly.

Trying to calm herself down, she carefully asked, "So you're telling me you died of a perfectly natural heart attack?"

"No, it was Kira's doing," L said enjoying watching Melinda's reactions to such statements. "Are you sure it's safe to drive like this? You seem quite uneasy."

Melinda did in fact pull over. Kira victims tended to be hostile or at least energetic spirits, she didn't want to risk receiving a violent vision or any other aggressive beg for attention while driving. Taking a breath to steel herself, she turned to face the nameless Kira victim. He spoke again.

"Thank you for getting off the road, I'm sure the weight of a car accident on my conscience wouldn't help matters as far as crossing over goes."

"Who are you?" she asked anxiously, she couldn't help but be confused by his calm and somewhat polite manner coupled with his eccentric manner of sitting and fidgeting and considered with the fact he was a Kira victim. What had he been? One of those disturbingly warped serial killers who could imitate sanity?

"I still have no desire to give you my name. You may call me... Ryuzaki, if you wish, it was the last alias I used."

Aliases too? Wait a minute... "Ryuzaki? You're Asian?" She'd thought she'd heard a hint of an accent around his R's and L's, but that chair _had_ come from England...

"No."

With an exasperated sigh, she said, "Then?"

"I lived in Japan a couple of years before death. And remained there five years afterward."

Melinda stared. Five years? He'd been dead a while then. And in Japan... "How on earth...?"

"Yes?"

"How'd you get from Japan to Pennsylvania? No," she needed to think in a more linear manner, "How did you get from Japan to England?"

"I lived in England several years ago, I decided to go back."

After five years in Japan? Something wasn't adding up. Though there was no change in his voice or facial expression, Melinda got the feeling he was hiding something. Perhaps it had to do with... "You never told me what you did to deserve Kira's... Judgment."

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

He sighed, "If I told you, you'd think I was lying."

Melinda was already getting the feeling that it was impossible to extract the entire truth from him anyway. "Try me."

"I was... affiliated with the Kira case investigation."

"What? You were one of the ones who wanted to arrest him?"

"Yes."

"What were you?" Melinda asked, puzzled, "Japanese police? FBI? I never heard of any English organizations working against Kira..."

He grew quiet. Melinda kept staring at him, wondering. At last, he spoke.

"You will not believe me," he warned her one more time, "I am L."

oOo

**Oh My Ge-osh, cliff hanger! Next chapter coming up ASAP, and once I **_**do**_** get it up it'll end with a surprise...**


	3. Doubt

**Hello faithful readers, I have at last returned! I offer a sincere apology for taking so long to get this chapter out and a promise to never take five whole months between chapters again! I'd also say something like "and the next chapter will be out really soon" but since five months ago I said ASAP that really doesn't seem appropriate.**

**Just so you all will know, for those of you like me who have been keeping close tabs on the fourth season of Ghost Whisperer and saying "What the hell?" a lot, the fourth season just didn't happen in this universe. This story was mostly planned and partially pre-written during the summer of this year (2008) and I didn't take a single one of those outrageous plot twists into account.**

**So, without any further delay:**

---

Cars whizzed by on the highway, the _whoosh_ of their passage and the engine of Melinda's own car the only sounds to be heard. The air conditioner of her car began to give her goosebumps; she gave a jerky shiver without meaning to. She and L stared at each other, not speaking. His words seemed to keep echoing in the silence.

_"I am L."_

At last, she said, "No, you're not."

Tilting his head to the side curiously, L said, "Why not?"

"You mean L like the detective, right?"

"Yes," he said, slightly irritated. What else would he mean?

"You said you've been dead five years. L's not even dead!"

"Five years..." L repeated with a sigh, "If you'll remember that was long before your country or anyone else was openly supporting Kira-"

"Hey, America-"

"Was not supporting Kira back then unlike now, as I was saying, so how do you think you and the rest of the general populace would have reacted if my death were made public knowledge?"

"Well, I guess-"

"There would have been mass panic. I gave specific instructions that in the event of my death I was to be promptly replaced and that the entire matter must remain confidential."

"Really..." Melinda said, "So you really are- um, _were_ L, huh?"

"Yes."

Melinda was still doubtful. "Prove it."

"Impossible."

"Uh-huh," Melinda said, rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the road, looking for an opening to get back on the highway. Whatever else he had to say, it seemed he didn't have any malevolent intentions at the moment, and she wanted to get home as soon as possible.

"It is impossible," L repeated, "Anything _you_ know about L is common knowledge anyone with a TV or internet access could find out. Anything else_ I_ could tell you is confidential information that you have no way of confirming."

"Well..." He had a point. But still... "Fine. Just keep talking then. Who replaced you anyway?"

L noted that Melinda seemed to think he would be so defensive that he would tell her an indefinite amount of unnecessary information in order to convince her he wasn't lying. She did not, it appeared, take into account that he may not have any problem at all with her distrusting him. "Why would I tell you who my replacement was? It's not as if he's anyone you know or have heard of."

"If he took your place so soon after death, you may feel some resentment toward him. He might be part of the reason you can't cross over." Melinda allowed herself a quick sideways glance to check if this theory seemed to hit home with the spirit. His expression remained the same. Melinda sighed. She'd never had to deal with a ghost with such a good poker face before.

"I see..." L said. Under the circumstances, he really couldn't argue with that theory with much hope of success, so he allowed her this victory. "Very well, his name was Light Yagami," the name somehow sounded odd to him in its western order, "He was a college student at the time, but far more intelligent than his peers. His talent for deductive reasoning was nearly on par with my own, and, to be honest, his strategy skills all but exceeded mine, he was indisputably a genius."

Melinda wondered why L talked about this Light kid in the past tense. Was it because it had been so long ago or had Light also lost his life to the Kira case? L continued.

"In short, a brilliant, talented, and highly driven young man, the only person I've ever even come close to naming my equal, and," L paused, savoring for a second the coup he was about to score in the conversational combat he viewed this interaction to be, "completely unqualified to solve the Kira case."

"Really?" Melinda said, eyebrows furrowing, "Why? You just said he was as smart as you." Was the case so complex that L believed only someone who surpassed his own ability could solve it? Or was there some other reason?

"He _was_ almost as smart as I, if it were any other case I'd be perfectly content knowing he was working on it. However," he paused again. He hadn't put any emphasis on the word "almost," but Melinda still heard it and made a mental note of the statement. "His work on the Kira case compromised the entire investigation," L finished.

"Why?" Melinda asked again.

"He was Kira."

Melinda was shocked once more, but not shocked speechless.

"_What?!_"

"Miss Gordon, your driving..."

Melinda sighed and pulled over again. After parking she rubbed her eyes miserably. What next? Could she even take any more of this?

L's hand came up to his face to play with his lips, and hide the twitching corners of his mouth. Victory.

After a while Melinda said, "First of all, just so you know, it's Missus."

L took note. He had originally predicted a sixty-seven percent chance she was single. Melinda continued.

"So you're trying to tell me that you're L, you died five years ago, and you were replaced by _Kira_?"

"Yes."

"Are you kidding me?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"No."

"Well." Either he was lying or insane, she decided. Or both. It just couldn't be true. Couldn't even be possible. Still, she wanted to get home some time this week, and if he kept giving her cause to stop like this... "Is there any other shocking news you plan to unveil that I'll want to be pulled over for?"

"Hm..." He stared at nothing and chewed his thumbnail a few seconds before saying, "Kira is dead. He has been for thirty-three days now."

Melinda gaped at him. And then remembered. Warily, she asked, "You mean he died on January 28?"

"Yes."

She remembered. January 28. The day after her birthday. A Monday. The first day of her first week of being thirty-three. She almost didn't watch the news that day; it was always so depressing. But Jim wasn't home yet and she was bored so she did anyway. Top Story: No Kira Killings Today. It was the top story the next day too. And the day after... Most people said that he was just taking a break again. He'd done it before, after all. It seemed more likely than not that he'd be back in a blaze of glory soon enough. But he wasn't back yet. Perhaps he never would be. Perhaps he_ had_ died thirty-three days ago, on January 28…

Still a little suspicious, she asked, "Are you telling the truth?"

Instead of responding, he disappeared, suddenly, just like last time. Maybe even spirits as "life-like" as he couldn't find a natural-looking method of going away.

---

L leaned back in the rocking chair thoughtfully. Then again, he didn't. This particular state of consciousness was disturbing in its surrealism. In life he had never given much thought to so-called "out-of-body experiences" and certainly not believed in them, but, if they did occur, he surmised that they must feel something like this. Somehow he knew that right now his spirit was sitting in that chair, it had no choice after all, it was attached. But that was his spirit._ He_ was not in that chair, or anywhere on that truck, or even anywhere on Earth for that matter. Or even just_ anywhere_. He just _was_. He hadn't had a chance to confirm it, but he suspected that Melinda would be unable to see him when he was in this state. Within his first few months of death, he'd noticed that some spirits seemed to just "go away" for a while when they remained inactive long enough. Curious, he'd attempted to replicate the experience by being inactive himself. When it finally happened it'd startled him, this strange sort of lucid unconsciousness, but he quickly figured out that the experience caused him no harm and he even discovered that he could go to this "place" or lack thereof at will. He hadn't done it often in the past few months, being too busy tracking Light's battle with Near, but he had noticed that when he did it helped him think.

What he needed to think of now was what he'd already thought of ever since Light's death: Why could he not cross over? In truth, he'd already formed several theories, but now he had to narrow and define these hypotheses; abstract suggestions were not going to be of much help to this Melinda woman.

It was times like these he wished he had Watari or someone else aside from Mrs. Gordon to talk to; communication was a most valuable asset to his thought process that he missed a great deal. For now he'd just have to do without…

---

After some thought, he saw two likely possibilities. His first conclusion, well, not his first, but the one he planned to test first was that his inability to cross over had to do with Near, specifically his statement upon capturing Light that he and Mello had surpassed L's own investigative prowess. His other conjecture, his true first conclusion, was that he was stuck here because of Light.

Of course he kept in mind that the reason he couldn't cross over may be something he'd never considered, which would, of course, be problematic. However, he found this prospect improbable. Also, there had been other possibilities he'd considered, rejected, and filed away for the all but impossible eventuality of both his first two conclusions being inaccurate. The only thing to do now was start testing his hypotheses. His plan was to solve each problem, one at a time.

How should he go about solving "the Near problem" then, he reflected. The most obvious solution would be to speak with the boy, an activity that would, of course, require Mrs. Gordon's assistance. And a trip to England; from what he remembered of his stay at Wammy's, Near planned to return to the orphanage for a few weeks to ask the man currently running the place, Roger wasn't it? to become the next "Watari" and perhaps recruit some further assistance for his future crime-solving activities. The irony of the situation did not escape him._ "Regardless of my place of origin,"_ he'd said,_ "Any 'unresolved issues' I may have are unlikely to be in England, or any European country for that matter. I would not expect you to travel overseas for my sake, if that's what's making you concerned." "Good, because I wouldn't,"_ she'd replied. The execution of any plans to test "the Near theory" would be... difficult.

---

Melinda sighed and turned on the radio. It was too quiet, and now was not a time she wanted to be left alone with her thoughts. Still, all the little shocks he'd given her so far,_ "I am L." "He was Kira." "Kira is dead." _kept echoing back and forth in her mind. Even as she turned up the radio, so loud she imagined other cars passing her were able to hear it, the echoes continued, words meshing in out of each other._ L... Kira... dead. L... Kira... L. L. L._ She shivered and tried to concentrate on driving, wondering in spite of herself if he'd come back tonight to tell her even more.

Hours later she made it back to Grandview without any further harassment.

---

"Hey Delia!" Melinda said when Delia came into the antique shop Monday morning. No customers had stopped by yet, so Delia and Melinda were alone, if one didn't count L's spirit perched upon the counter next to the cash register.

"Good morning," Delia said, shooting a glace around the store to make sure it was safe for ghost-talk before saying, "So?"

"So what?" Melinda said, raising her eyebrows with a sneaky grin.

"So how's Casper's evil twin?" Delia asked, rolling her eyes and smiling.

"Who?" L asked.

"Mysterious as ever," Melinda said, ignoring L, "All I've really managed to get out of him is he was in law enforcement, I think."

"Do you always lie to your friend about these matters?" L said, raising his eyebrows.

"Is he here now?" Delia asked.

"No," Melinda answered both their questions. "Why don't you run across the street and get us some coffee?" she said to Delia.

"I'm assuming you're talking to her?" L said.

"I'm running a bit slow this morning," Melinda added, waiting until Delia wasn't looking to shoot a glare at L.

"Alright, be back in a minute." Delia left the shop.

"Why did you-" L began to ask.

"I lied," Melinda said, happy to be the one answering questions before they were fully asked for once, "Because although she doesn't like to admit it, Delia's a Kira supporter."

The expression on L's face seemed to indicate that he was revising his opinion of Delia's general decency.

"Don't look like that," Melinda said.

Almost mockingly, his features resettled into their natural stoic demeanor.

"I have other friends who feel the same way," she continued, "So I'm going to be keeping all things L on a need-to-know basis."

"Good. For how long?"

"What do you mean how long? Until I cross you over, I'm not going to tell people."

"Ah." L doubted this statement. Kira supporter or no, it was obvious that Delia was used to hearing all the major details of Melinda's supernatural activities. Also, Melinda seemed a talkative type. L had predicted early on that she was probably one to discuss her problems at length with at least one person when going through the process to solve them.

"Now hush, I've got a customer," Melinda said, looking through the clear glass door to see someone approaching her store.

The bell on the door to the shop jingled. A woman with red hair under a sun hat walked in.

"Oh, hello," Melinda said, smiling. Suddenly she shook her head and gave the woman a closer look. "Aren't you that antique dealer's daughter from that estate sale?"

"What? I mean, yes, yes I am," the woman said, seeming nervous.

"Well that was a pretty long drive you took to get here, I guess- Hey! What are doing?"

The woman had picked an object off a shelf, seemingly at random, and was now running out the door as fast as her legs would carry her.

"I don't believe it!" Melinda exclaimed, storming over the phone and picking it up.

"Curious," said L, "She is from an extremely wealthy family. What could she possibly gain by stealing a reasonably priced antique figurine? Mrs. Gordon."

"What?"

"This case fascinates me."

Melinda rolled her eyes. "That's nice."

L almost rolled his own eyes. What did he think she was? A member of the ICPO? Of course she didn't know the true magnitude of what he'd just said to her. So he said instead, "I'll follow her motions to deduce what I can. You go ahead and call the police." He disappeared.

"Thanks for your permission," Melinda said sarcastically as she dialed the station's number.

"City of Grandview Police department," said the voice on the other side of the line, "How may I help you?"

"Uh, hello, I'm Melinda Gordon and I'd like to report a theft from my antique shop," she said before slowly reciting the address of her store.

"Please don't," said a soft voice.

"What?" said Melinda.

"What?" said the man at the police station.

"Um, could you hold on a minute please?" Melinda said, looking up. The woman was back. No, Melinda realized, the woman's spirit. Had she died on the way out, Melinda wondered with a gasp.

"I didn't mean to," the spirit said, "I just keep losing control. I just keep watching myself doing these things like I'm someone else and forgetting about it afterward. I," she appeared to be biting back tears, "I think I've gone insane or something."

_A displaced spirit_, Melinda realized, _but who's doing the possessing?_

Putting her hand over the receiver, she said, "It's not you, okay? But don't you want to get caught so you don't do this anymore?"

"What?" The woman said, blinking.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" the man at the police station was saying.

Uncovering the receiver Melinda said, "Yes, I'm still here."

"Ma'am, could you describe the thief?"

"Yes," said Melinda, she's a woman with red hair-"

"About 5'5", wearing a sun hat with pink flowers on it?"

Melinda gaped at the phone a moment before answering, "Yes, exactly."

"We've gotten calls about her from three other shops so far, don't worry, we'll track her down soon. Would you like me to call you back when we catch her so you can come down here and pick up your stuff?"

"Um," Melinda said, blinking, "Yes, please, that would be great."

"Oh no, they're not going to get me are they?" the woman said sadly.

"They're already after you," Melinda said as she hung the phone up, "I'm sorry." She_ was_ sorry that the woman was going to be arrested for something she didn't willfully do, but she was also anxious for her to get caught. Perhaps if she made it to the police station quickly enough she'd be able to catch the ghost leaving the woman's body.

---

Light grimaced. A few seconds of silence passed. Light cried out in surprise. How could he be grimacing and crying out in surprise? He'd been stuck in nothingness all this time, but now... Where was he? Was he still dead? He slapped a nearby wall and watched his hand go through. Yes. He looked around. He was standing on some stairs. That didn't help, but nonetheless he stared at the stairs intently. He noticed something strange. A faint rust colored stain on the stairs, right where he was standing. _Blood... My blood. This is where I died._ So now he knew where he was. And for some burning reason that he couldn't figure out, he also knew where he needed to be. It was so odd though. He didn't know exactly where he was thinking of, but through the spiritual shadow that he would call his mind echoed a name that he was almost certain was the name of a place, but where? Where?

"Where the hell is Grandview?" he said aloud.

---

**If you couldn't tell, the whole bit with L's out-of-spectral-body experience was an attempt to answer the burning question, "Where do they go when they're not busy bothering Melinda?"**

**So yeah, again, reviews always appreciated. Look! They made the review button bigger! It's just **_**dying**_** to be pushed!**


End file.
